Hogan's Heroes?
by Alverrann
Summary: "That's ruddy awful! Who in their right mind would call anyfing that?" - Papa Bear Award Winner, 2017 Gold in the Unique Category.
1. Hogan's Heroes?

**K. So this** **is my first truly and completely Hogan's Heroes fanfic, so I'm a little nervous, since it's my first true and wonderful fandom.**

 **I had this idea after watching an episode (I think it was _The Pizza Parlor_ ) where the prisoners all whistled their theme, and I wondered how they learned it in-universe. This is the result of my trying to fit it in, lyrics and all.**

* * *

In a prison camp, boredom could be your worst enemy. It could also be your friend, but this was not one of those days. It had been a week and a half since their last mission from London, and now that Gestapo activity was a little too close to theirs, they had been forced to call a halt on all their work. Carter sadly reflected that without their clandestine activity, they had nothing to do. The colonel himself had been antsy of late while waiting for their next assignment, and although he tried to hide it, his boredom had affected morale. Schultz was likely to begin tearing out his own hair soon at the prisoner's relentless teasing and confusing antics, all of it done to alleviate the lull that the camp had fallen into.

Carter watched a fly lazily drift around the barracks interior, past LeBeau, who stood at the stove, absent-mindedly stirring a pot of something that smelled strange. Kinch was reclining on his bunk, reading a well-worn book in the shadows. Buchanan was whittling something, focused entirely on his misshapen piece of wood that had yet to take a definite form. Ames was drawing, at least that's what it looked like he was doing, until one saw that his eyes were on the fly that had just passed Zeddemore. The rest of Barracks 2's men were similarly occupied, a few of them also watching the fly. Carter himself, had been writing in between the lines of his worn out Tom Sawyer book, having been using it as a journal for the past while.

Well, he _had_ been writing, up until the fly had caught his attention. Not that he'd really been focused on his journaling anyway. All he'd written was that things had been slow lately, and he hoped that they'd speed up soon.

The fly had now started on its path past Newkirk, who was steadily smoking as he quietly played cards with himself at the far end of the table. Carter's eyes followed the insect as it made it's way towards the food and the Frenchman cooking it. The sergeant was happy to see that LeBeau jumped higher than him when the Englishman's hand abruptly came down on top of the unsuspecting fly, an ace of hearts smashing it against the table. "GEEZ, Newkirk!" Carter's yelp was outdone only by LeBeau, who leapt away from the stove, waving a burned hand as he shouted.

"Vous m'avez fait brûler moi-même!" The Frenchman continued to curse avidly, and Newkirk glared at the many eyes that accused him.

"What?! The ruddy fing was driven' me mad!"

"Well you didn't have to kill it like that!" Carter could hear that his voice had climbed up the octave, but he couldn't pull it back down. "You scared the heck outta me!"

"That _was_ a little violent." Ames agreed, looking at his picture with a slight scowl. "You made me ruin my picture."

"A _little_ violent?!" LeBeau's demanding tone completely drowned out Garlotti's soft tease, and Ame's indignant answer.

"I think it looks better now."

"What?! How dare-!"

"The English are always looking for excuses to hit things!"

"You'd know, wouldn't you!"

"You did hit that table pretty hard, Peter." Kinch's tone halted the escalating arguments before they could go too far. "Any more surprises like that, and I'll have to start writing my will."

"Well, this is _war_." Newkirk grumbled. "That bleedin' little nuisance had it comin'."

"Too bad, too." Garlotti lamented. "It was the only entertaining thing in the room."

"I resent that." Ames sniffed.

"Well, we could always open the door and let more in." Carter suggested, only to get an emphatic and resounding,

"NO!"

In stereo.

Buchanan slipped off of his bunk while Newkirk smacked Carter with his cap, but no one really noticed him until he headed for the door.

"Hey Jed, where're ya goin'?" Adams asked his bunkmate, standing to follow. Buchanan wasn't really too talkative, but he also didn't just up and leave very often without at least a word to his friends.

"Out."

"Mate, it's the heat of the day!" Newkirk raised his eyebrows. "You'd be barmy to head out now!"

"It is pretty hot out there." Carter agreed amiably. "But it's still not as bad as that one summer when I was eleven, boy! Paul and I love to play outside, but that day-"

"Andrew." Kinch stood, cutting him off with his look and his tone. "What's wrong with your hand, Buchanan?"

"Well." The tall American appeared to be fairly embarrassed. "Most of y'all were holdin' books when you jumped, I was holdin' a knife …"

"You cut yourself?" Kinch neared, while LeBeau suddenly leaned in to sniff his soup, studiously keeping his eyes away from the exchange now that blood was involved.

"Crap." Adams neared. "How bad is it?"

"It's not that bad." Buchanan hedged. "But it needs stitches."

Newkirk's face was red, and his eyes were on his cards while Kinch nodded. "Go see Wilson and Stockton."

"I'll go too." Adams offered, and they both left at the staff sergeant's nod.

"Ruddy fly was more flippin' trouble than it was worth, dead or alive." Newkirk muttered in embarrassment, and Kinch shook his head.

"It wasn't your fault, Newkirk. We've all been a little tense lately."

"That's understating it." Ames grumbled, frowning at his picture. "We haven't heard a peep from Jerry for four days, so I'd like to know why we haven't hopped back to work yet."

"You _do_ know." Kinch admonished, "We can't afford to risk that they aren't lying in wait, especially after that information from Dubois."

"So they're waiting for us to make the first move?" Abrams clarified from his bunk across the room.

"Exactly, and we're not going to fall into any trap that they may have set for us, even if it means waiting out the rest of this week. The underground will give us the all clear when the goons are pulled off. Until then, we keep quiet and wait for orders."

"Patience is a virtue, I guess." Carter shrugged, and Newkirk growled.

"I still don' like jus' sittin' around 'ere waitin' for the bloody Gestapo ta get over themselves!"

"Who does?" Belknap asked quietly from the corner.

"I kinda like the spare time." Abrams shrugged, stepping up to the sink to wash his face.

"You would." Ames rolled his eyes, scribbling some more on his pad. "Everyone else is going bonkers waiting, and up you jump to cheer." He suddenly looked up with a sly twinkle in his eyes. "You would jump up and cheer, that is, if you weren't catching as many winks as you could."

"Not denying it." The Californian responded with a grin. "Can't say I'm muchuva jumper anyway." Ames snorted, and almost everyone else gave a smile. Carter couldn't have been happier at the change from before, and the slight excitement was only added to when Olsen strolled in, whistling happily.

"What's up fellas?" He grinned at Newkirk's game. "Heard you brutally murdered a fly in here, Newkirk. I hadda come see if anyone else got caught in the crossfire."

"Oh leave off." Newkirk slapped one of his cards on top of another one, turning to give Olsen his best glare. It was ruined by Carter though, who caught his target's attention innocently enough, not noticing the Englander turning his glare on him.

"Where'd ya learn that song, Olsen?"

"What song?"

"The one you were just whistling." Carter prompted, humming a line of it, only to get a huff from Newkirk.

"Mate, that song's been all over the camp."

"Oui, I have heard that song too, but I agree, where did it come from?" LeBeau turned to Olsen, who shrugged.

"I was messin' around one day, and it kinda came to me."

"Wait, that ditty's been stuck in my head for weeks, and you're telling me you invented it?" Ames tossed his sketchpad to the side, giving up on the picture at last.

"Well … only parts of it … I feel like it's already a song, actually." Olsen admitted.

"Not one I've heard before." Kinch put in.

"Kinch is right." LeBeau agreed. "I've never heard it before."

"Well I didn't make it on purpose." Olsen appeared embarrassed by the attention. "Like I said, it just sorta … came to me."

"Well I like it!" Carter grinned, while Ames scowled.

"If I knew the blasted end to the thing, I'd be a lot happier. As it is, I think it's going to be stuck in my head for the rest of the war."

"You'd need lyrics for a good ending, mate." Newkirk agreed. "And I doubt those 'ave just floated into Olsen's 'ead too." They all looked at Olsen, who shook his head.

"I never even thought of lyrics."

"Did you think of a name, at least?" Ames asked, shaking his head before Olsen even answered.

"No."

"Well I know what I would name it." Carter had been thinking, and the more he thought, the more he liked it. It took him a moment to realize that they were all looking at him, waiting for the rest. " _Heroes_."

" _Heroes_?" Newkirk wrinkled his nose, and LeBeau chuckled.

"Why name it that, Andrew?" Kinch was smiling as well, and Carter was suddenly embarrassed, feeling his face heat up.

"Well, just 'cause, … that's what we are, isn't it? That's what we do all the time, and that's what the colonel has helped us be …" Oh, the embarrassment was worse now, especially with the silence. Carter didn't dare meet anyone's eyes, and that's why he was so surprised to hear Abrams comment.

"I like it."

"I still fink it's ruddy awful." Newkirk shrugged, his face turned away from Carter, with a strange quality in his voice.

"I think it's just fine." Kinch's smile was filled with fondness that made Carter beam, only for it to turn into a frown.

"It's still missing something, but that's all I could think of."

"It's nice Andre." LeBeau smiled, while Garlotti spoke up from behind Carter, making him turn to look at him.

"Are you gonna write the rest of the lyrics?"

"If they're anyfing like the title, then I hope not." Newkirk grunted when LeBeau swatted him on the arm.

"I could write good words!" Carter pouted.

"Awright, what would the first words be?" The Brit's skeptical eyebrow raised, and all of Carter's thoughts fled in the face of the pressure.

"Uh … Heroes," He groped for what he would say next, then ended up repeating himself. " … Heroes."

"'Eroes, 'eroes?" There went the other eyebrow, skeptically joining the first.

"Yeah." Carter defended.

"Songs repeat themselves all the time, I don't see anything wrong with it." Belknap's soft voice was a surprise to everyone, and Kinch smiled.

"Then it's settled."

"What's settled?" Newkirk glanced up at the sergeant, and though Carter hadn't thought it possible, his eyebrows climbed even higher.

Kinch didn't respond immediately, instead leisurely strolling to the corkboard next to the front door and tearing off an old to-do list from it, which he flipped over as he returned to his bunk, snatching his clipboard and a pencil as he sat down, speaking out loud for everyone else's sakes. " _Heroes_. Written by: The Men of Barracks 2. First words, 'Heroes, heroes.'" He looked up with a full white grin. "Anything to add?"

"We've all gone barmy." Newkirk muttered, while Abrams laughed.

"Does this mean you're going to hang it back up and let us all add stuff to it?"

"I don't see why not, if we're really going to write it." Kinch shrugged, standing to move back to the corkboard.

"An' 'oo said that we were ruddy well writin' the bleeding fing?" Newkirk griped.

"We could sing it for the colonel for his birthday when we're done." Garlotti suggested, ignoring Newkirk. "It's only coupla weeks away, after all."

"We'll need to decide how many verses are in it, then." Zeddemore's dark face finally appeared from behind his book, the whites of his eyes practically glowing in the shadow of his bunk.

"How about five?" LeBeau smiled as he took his pot off the stove, bringing it to the table carefully, his smile turning wolfish when Newkirk edged away from him and the food. "The same amount of people who make up our core team?"

"I like that number." Carter was liking this more and more by the second.

"But it's not got an ending!" Ames walked to the table, sitting across from Newkirk with a huff. "And it's just one melody!"

"It does too have an ending." Olsen said haughtily, then began whistling the tune. The whole barracks had joined in by the end, which did indeed exist, and the door opened to admit Lyons and Greenland. They exchanged a look, and then Greenland asked, "Did we miss something?"

And so it began.

* * *

The whole barracks had all but forgotten it the next day, but it was on Carter's mind constantly. He really wanted to finish the line that he'd started, and he was determined that it would be something good and memorable.

The answer ended up coming from one of the colonel's more ridiculous tales, and in the end, Carter supposed that he should have just thought of listening to some of the things his CO said in the first place. He _always_ knew what to say.

So it was Hogan's argument with Klink that ended up giving him the rest of the first line.

"Hogan, what are your men doing? And don't tell me that they're relieving boredom! I won't take that!" Klink's voice rose and fell in pathetic waves that threatened to threaten the men while they practiced making a human tower, kneeling on each other's backs. Greenland was grunting in his bottom left position, while Lyons chuckled from right next to him, his face red and sweating. "They are practicing to leap over the wire!"

Obviously the prisoners weren't the only ones going stir crazy.

"Herr Kommandant, they _are_ relieving boredom!" Carter couldn't see his CO's face from where he was as he prepared to climb the pile, he and Adams being the last row before LeBeau would take his place on the very top, but Hogan sounded parts exasperated, bemused and amused. His underlying tone finishing his sentence with the unspoken 'I think'.

"Hogaaan!" Carter could see Klink now, waving his fist ineffectually at the colonel. "I said I won't accept that! So unless you want your entire barracks to be put on report, you will tell me the truth!"

Carter grinned as Hogan looked heavenward for help while Klink squinted at the prisoners through his monocle, then he watched his colonel take a deep breath and begin spinning the web.

"Herr Kommandant, this is an ancient American tradition, passed down from the English when we were just colonies!"

"What?" Klink's eyes swiveled to his senior prisoner, disbelief written all over his face. "And just why would the English-"

"It's supposed to be a way of building the perfect team, sir, passed down from the Prussians of old!" Hogan's voice colored with disbelief. "Don't tell me you've never heard of it?"

"I-" It obviously pained Klink to admit it, and his usually tight shoulders relaxed into a slight slump as he did. "No. I have never heard of it. You are telling me it is Prussian? Then why did you say that it was English?"

"Oh, well they got it from the French."

"The French? But then how-"

"They stole it from the Prussians."

"They what?" Klink seemed affronted, glaring up at LeBeau, who had finally made it to the top, and was carefully placing his feet on Carter and Adams' backs. Finally, Klink turned back to Hogan, his eyes squinting with what appeared to be disbelief again. "What did you say it was for?"

"It boosts morale, and it strengthens your muscles. I'm surprised you couldn't tell, Kommandant! It teaches the men to trust each other implicitly, since if even one of them were gone, everything would fall apart!"

"And it strengthens muscles?" Klink looked at them all, his gaze finally coming to rest on LeBeau, who stood proudly atop the pile.

"Well, ya'know all the dames at home are waiting for us, Kommandant. We gotta keep in shape any way we can." Hogan reasoned. "They want their heroes, their husky men of war to come home, and we can't disappoint them by not being husky."

"Husky?" Klink's neck almost disappeared as he tucked his chin in to ask the question.

Hogan appeared to be too focused on his men to have heard him, and then the question seemed to register on his face, and he nodded, "Ah, yeah. Ya'know, strong, burly, manly. What girl doesn't want that kind of a guy?"

"Mm-hmm, mm-hmm." Klink took one last, pondering look at their pile before strutting away, his riding crop tucked underarm, as per usual.

"You fellas done scarin' Klink?" Hogan asked after the Kommandant turned the corner, his departure inviting curious guards and prisoners to come closer and stare. "What in the world made you decide to do this, anyway?"

"We were tired of watching flies." Garlotti grunted from row three.

"And we were tired of Newkirk killing them." Adams added.

Hogan merely raised his eyebrows, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"And Barracks 12 bet us that we couldn't do it." Kinch's sigh from the bottom was audible even to Carter.

"Well I guess you showed them, then." A smirk spread across Hogan's face, the one that usually preceded being the butt of one of his more cruel jokes.

"Not yet, sir." Belknap admitted quietly, and Olsen declared from row four,

"We have to hold this position for ten minutes!"

"Look, fellas." Hogan sounded as though he was about to laugh, but he didn't. "I know things have been slow lately, but that doesn't mean you have to start doin' things like this."

"I approved it, Colonel." Kinch said.

"You _approved_ -" Hogan shook his head incredulously. "We need a mission.

"Amen." At least three of the men spoke.

"We also need to lose weight!" Newkirk sounded like he was in pain from row three, and Hogan only shook his head again before pausing.

"There's fifteen of you, who'd you borrow?"

"Me." Brighton spoke up. "Mills from Barracks 12 was makin' fun of us, me an' Bartoli, just last week, callin' us sissies. This is my payback."

"Ah." Hogan looked them up and down one more time before walking around them, towards the Barracks in the back. "Well, have fun then, I guess. But no more stupid bets like this, huh? You come to me with 'em from now on." The colonel gave a soft chuckle then. "I didn't know that all it took was boredom to crack you, Kinch."

"Just don't tell the Gestapo." The radioman deadpanned.

The colonel went into the barracks laughing.

"I'm going ta wring Sergeant Murphy's neck next time I see 'im." Newkirk ground out from below. "This stupid bet has 'is name written all over it!"

"You didn't have to agree, you know." Ames pointed out.

"An' I wish I 'adn't!"

"I think this is nice." LeBeau said.

"SHUT UP." Came the chorused response.

When they finally did get down, stiff and sore, and more than a little peeved, Carter went straight to the corkboard, adding the rest of the line in his slanted, cramped hand.

'Husky men of war.'

* * *

Newkirk could hardly believe how much his back hurt the next morning. He woke up feeling like he'd been run over, along with everyone else in the barracks barring LeBeau and the colonel. Lyons, Greenland, Kinch, Buchanan and Zeddemore had been on the bottom Newkirk tried to remind himself, they were surely in worse pain than he was.

It was hard to remember though, when he was standing so close to the colonel and LeBeau in the formation.

Schultz clucked over them at roll call, shaking his head when Newkirk muttered about his back again. "Langenscheidt told me all about your tower yes-ter-day. You. Are. _all_ going crazy."

"Non, Schulzie, it was an ancient Prussian ritual." LeBeau responded in good spirits while Newkirk continued his angry mumbling.

"Jolly joker." The sergeant chuckled, then trundled off to report at the Kommandant's call.

Roll call couldn't have ended soon enough, in Newkirk's opinion, and he quickly re-entered the barracks, still scowling and muttering. He went to jump on the bunk when his eyes caught the slip of paper that Kinch had tacked back up the other day, and he rolled his eyes at the firm dark words that the radioman had written.

He raised his eyebrows when he recognized Carter's handwriting next to it though, finishing the line with a phrase that was familiar after their tower the day before.

Despite himself, Newkirk barked out a short laugh that had Belknap giving him a strange look as he walked past. Against his better judgment, he didn't say anything about it, not wanting to admit that he thought the line was funny.

He vaulted onto his bunk, prepared to go back to sleep when Lyons' Scottish burr filtered into audibility. "Och, why did I join the army?"

"I don't know." Greenland returned from beneath the Scot. "Perhaps you're round the bend?"

"That'd do it." Lyons agreed from his place on top.

Newkirk was about to tell them to shut it when Carter spoke up. "I was drafted, but a lot of my old squad said they joined for their country."

"I joined for my dad." Buchanan was the last person that anyone had expected to talk, and Newkirk slit his eyes open to look across the room at the normally silent southerner. "When I was growin' up, he was my hero, an' all I really had were his letters that he sent home from the Great War."

"My dad fought in that too." Abrams said softly, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "He made it back though, and he didn't want me to come here. He said it'd be the death of me. It almost killed him when I turned up MIA."

"Yeah, my mom didn't want me to join." Olsen's voice was barely audible. "She wanted me to finish school, and go for being an officer. My enlisting was almost the last straw, and I know my capture was. My dad thought it'd be good for me, though."

Newkirk wished that he could have looked up to his father like the others seemed to be able to look up to their own, his long existent jealousy flaring up uncomfortably in the face of all the 'my parents were my heroes' talk going around the room.

His mum had been a hero though, for sure. Staying faithful to his father throughout the first war, helping out any way she could …

A sudden thought had Newkirk pulling himself off the bed and grabbing the pencil off the top of the corkboard to add the next line.

'Fighting like our heroes from the Great War before.'

"What're you doing, Newkirk?"

"Takin' a nap until at least 7:00." He answered as he crawled back up, happy that their colonel didn't make them do any exercises, and happy that Klink didn't enforce it when Hogan didn't do it.

"I second that." Kinch murmured sleepily from his bunk.

His dad may not have been a hero, but Newkirk could only try to live up to his mum, he decided, since she was a hero enough for three.

* * *

Kinch did sleep until 7:00, and so did everyone else. Most of them could have slept longer, but the colonel did have his limits as to how far he'd let them go. Though the radioman had a hunch that soon enough they'd be doing calisthenics in the morning, especially if the colonel caught them making another tower in the compound.

The day was no slower than the previous few had been, and Kinch yawned after washing his face. He stretched his arms and looked lazily around the room. Newkirk and Carter were playing Gin, and Buchanan was trying to teach Adams the finer points of whittling, despite his stitched and wrapped thumb.

Zeddemore was reading again, which was no shock, and Garlotti peered over Ames' shoulder while the Brit continued his drawing from the other day.

Speaking of the other day … Kinch wandered over to the paper on the wall, surprised to see that three lines had been written, the first half in his own hand, and half in Carter's, 'Heroes, heroes, husky men of war'.

He huffed out a soft laugh, recognizing the colonel's lie from the day before. The next line was from Newkirk, and Kinch dimly remembered the conversation from that morning.

'Fighting like our heroes from the Great War before.'

Kinch saw that it didn't say fathers at all, and knew that Newkirk had done it on purpose, going off of what little the Englander had said about his dad.

The third line was again in Carter's hand, and Kinch knew it couldn't have been done but a short while before, 'We're all heroes up to our ear-o's'. Trust Carter to come up with something like that, and to spell 'we're' as 'were', Kinch fixed it with an easy flick of his pencil.

Kinch turned around again, looking at the group of men with whom he shared his life, pondering what meaningful line he could add to the poem.

Abrams was still asleep, despite the fact that the colonel had woken them up just 20 minutes before. The blond Californian looked serene, not making a sound from where he was curled on his side, his face expressionless.

Belknap seemed to be very fastidiously folding a piece of paper, and Kinch shook his head in wonder at the young canadian's ability. He'd seen Belknap's collection of origami swans, cranes, frogs and even an octopus, and he knew it was a talent he'd never have.

Olsen was quietly humming to himself as he re-read an old letter, his face occasionally lighting up with a huge grin at whatever the news from home was.

LeBeau had pulled out his pot, and was getting ready to make something delicious, judging by the eggs and spices held precariously in one hand.

Lyons was talking quietly with Greenland, and they both laughed together moments later.

All was normal in the world, and Kinch appreciated how lucky he was for a moment that was soon broken.

"Whatcha laughin' about?" Carter aimed the question back at them, his eyes focused on his cards even while Greenland stopped chuckling to say.

"Jamie, tell them."

"All right." The Scot turned on the bunk with a grin. "Knock knock."

"Oh! I love knock knock jokes!" Carter's eyes almost left his cards in his excitement, and Newkirk rolled his eyes as he gave the standard answer. "Who's there?"

"Zhe Gestapo!" Lyons put on a terrible German accent, his grin growing larger as he did it.

"Gee!" Carter's eyes finally swept to the pair of jokers, obviously unsure of how this joke was going to end, and Kinch saw that the rest of the barracks was also waiting. "The Gestapo who?"

"VE ASK ZHE QVESTIONS!" Lyons stood and pointed when he shrieked it suddenly, and Kinch realized that he'd never _realized_ what a pair of lungs the Scotsman had until just then.

The entire barracks was silent for only a moment before it erupted into raucous laughter. "I can tell ya where ta put your questions, mate!" Newkirk threw in, and the laughter increased.

"Vhat vould you suggest?" Lyons was crying a little, and Newkirk wasn't much better off as his answer was lost in the gales of laughter that followed it. Kinch could guess what the suggestion had been though, based on Carter's expression.

"What is going _on_ out here?" Hogan's head popping out of his office calmed everyone down fairly quickly, but Abrams ruined it, having somehow heard the entire joke, even though Kinch hadn't seen him move a muscle.

" _They_ ask the questions."

While Hogan looked on his tear-filled, apparently dying men, Kinch found the ability to shakily write the rest of the verse.

'You ask the questions, we make suggestions, that's what we're heroes for.'

* * *

LeBeau found himself humming Olsen's song at least four times while he made lunch. He couldn't believe how quickly it stuck itself in his head, refusing to leave. Ames was right. It needed an ending.

He absent-mindedly glanced over at the slip of paper when he was serving the barracks, and did a double take when he realized that it had more writing on it than it had contained before.

So someone _had_ been writing it. Most likely Carter, but still, it had more than he'd thought it would have.

"Can I have more?" Olsen asked, and LeBeau cheerily obliged, humming the tune to himself once again.

"Stuck in your head too, eh?" Ames shook his head. "It really needs an ending."

"So does this soup." Newkirk muttered.

"Or some harmony." Abrams mouth was full, but LeBeau still caught what he'd said, and found himself nodding.

"Oui. It is a little bland."

"I thought it tasted pretty good." Carter defended him, and LeBeau stared at him for a moment, completely bemused before the meaning dawned on him.

"Of course my soup is good! I was talking about Olsen's song!"

"My song is good!" Olsen glared, then frowned. "What's wrong with it?"

"You made it up." Newkirk shrugged, and LeBeau gave his head a whack, "Ouch!"

"It needs harmony." Abrams explained.

"Or a countermelody." Ames shrugged.

"LeBeau already made one, I think." Belknap said.

"You did?" Carter gaped. "You're fast!"

"I did not-" LeBeau paused. He remembered how he'd been humming it earlier, and he remembered that he'd spiced it up a little … He experimentally hummed what he now knew was his little countermelody again. He _had_ come up with one, … well, "It just came to me …" He felt sheepish repeating Olsen, and the American crowed with delight.

"See? What did I say?!"

"What _did_ you say?" Greenland walked in with Lyons just behind him, who commented sullenly.

"We miss everythin'."

"Oh! What is that _wunderbar_ shmeeeell?!"

Greenland whirled on Lyons. "Close the door!"

Both men were too slow, since Schultz burst in just then. "Oh, LeBeau! You are my fa-vo-rite enemy in the whole _world_!"

Greenland and Lyons gave up on trying to push the sergeant back out, sitting down at the far end of the table for their own meal with a shrug.

"You 'aven't met 'em all yet, Schulzie." Newkirk deadpanned.

"Try Canada." Abrams advised. "Belknap will tell you all about it."

"New Zealand would also be a good bet." Ames said.

"Hey, I bet the Italians are the nicest enemies you could have." Garlotti spoke up for his own heritage from his place on his bunk, and Abrams shook his head.

"Nope. Just look at Belknap. He's a nice guy, no matter what. Canada wins."

"I still say that New Zealand is where the money's at." Ames repeated.

"What money?" Carter asked.

"Italians win for nicest enemies, Schultz, right?" Garlotti looked to the German to settle their dispute, and before the large man could even splutter out that the Italians were allies, Abrams had butted in.

"No, it's the Canadians, right?"

"Newkirk!" Schultz looked to him with wide eyes, unable to understand what had happened. "Why do you always get me into trouble!"

Newkirk opened his mouth, preparing to explain that he'd only made a harmless joke, but he was never given the chance.

"He didn't start _this_ fight, it was the Italians." Abrams said it so matter-of-factly, that LeBeau was having trouble telling if the man was still teasing.

"Oh, sure it was." Garlotti had a wicked glint in his eye. "Name one time the Italians were ever bad enemies!"

"If only I'd listened in History class." Abrams shrugged.

"If only you'd listen at all!" Ames rolled his eyes.

Greenland's voice tacked on a quiet, "It's true."

Abrams cutting response was drowned out by a far more desperate one,

"Newkirk! Why must you always start fights?" Schultz was still waiting for his answer, and the Englander finally managed to give him one, deciding against defending himself versus joining in the fun.

"Schultz, any man worth his salt loves a great big fight."

"I am not worth salt!" Schultz stuttered. "I- I mean, I do not like great big fights!"

"You can always walk out and come back later. Maybe it will be over by then." Carter suggested helpfully.

"Danke, Carter!" Schultz meant it with all of his heart as he hurried out the door, chased by a shout.

"Explain 1812!"

"Merci for getting rid of him. Le colonel still has not eaten, et Schultz would have left him nothing." LeBeau told them, only for the argument to continue. He watched for a moment, seeing that they were truly enjoying the reprieve from boredom, then shook his head.

"I'm pretty sure that the Italians were a pretty powerful force when Austria owned them. Explain that!"

Newkirk had been right. They were enjoying the fight.

He found his eyes straying back to the paper on the board, and he walked over to read it. He ended up smiling at the blatant quotes and reminders of the last few days, happier than ever that he was surrounded by so many good men- no.

Good _heroes_.

Picking up the pencil, he smiled as he wrote in the next line, beginning the second verse.

'All good heroes love a great big fight'.

* * *

Adams hadn't given the slip of paper much thought when Olsen had laughingly explained it to he and Buchanan after their visit to the medic, but as time passed he had noticed that there was more on it than before.

"What does it say?" Buchanan's voice made Adams jump, as he hadn't been aware that his friend had been watching him peer at the paper, and his surprise also had to do with the fact that they were the only ones in the barracks.

"It says, uh, 'Heroes, heroes, husky men of war, fighting like our heroes from the Great War before, we're all heroes up to our ear'o's, you ask the questions, we make suggestions, that's what we're heroes for', … then it has one line on the next verse, 'All good heroes love a great big fight.' … Aaaand that's it."

"Hmm." Came the only response, then after a moment of silence, "You should add a line."

"I'd only ruin it." Adams stepped away from the paper with a shake of his head. "Besides, I have no idea what I'd add."

"All you have to do is listen, and someone else will give you the line, apparently." Buchanan pointed out, and Adams turned to watch his friend whittle for a moment before sighing.

"Okay, I'll add a line if I hear it, but you have to promise that you will too."

"Sure." The southerner shrugged, and almost cut himself again when the door burst open suddenly, revealing Lyons and Greenland.

"Ye're gonna miss it!" Lyons said when he saw them, then strode past to his footlocker.

"Miss what?" Adams was suspicious. "And aren't you gonna miss whatever it is, too?"

"We miss everything." Greenland shrugged.

"But not this!" Lyons grinned back at them before continuing his rummaging. "Kinch is havin' it out in th' ring with Murphy!"

"Are you serious?" Adams took an involuntary step forward, and he heard Buchanan slip off their bunk behind him.

"Aye, an' we're jus' here tae get more stuff, for the bets!" Lyons finally came back up, closing his footlocker and revealing handfuls of cigarettes and candy bars.

"How'd you get so much?" Adams' eyes went wide. "Did you switch lockers with Newkirk?"

"He hoards." Greenland explained, and then he and Lyons ran out, leaving Adams to look at his friend.

"I'm ready." The private offered.

"Let's go!" Adams couldn't wait to see Murphy get his just desserts. The NCO of Barracks 12 had been asking for it since at least, … oh, the beginning of the war. Watching their own sergeant beat the tar out of the Irishman was going to be the highlight of his day!

"Crowded." Buchanan observed when they walked into the Rec Hall, and Adams heard the underlying message in it, saying that the whole camp was here to see Murphy get drilled.

"Yep." He agreed with a smile, then tried to shove his way closer, unable to see anything through the throng of prisoners, boxing ring included. Now he wasn't as short as LeBeau, but be wasn't very big either, and Adams only recalled it when he was bounced back out of the mob, almost falling on the ground but for Buchanan catching him. The corporal's face reddened a little, and he asked, "Could you try?"

Buchanan rolled his eyes, but righted Adams and started forward, leaving the much thinner American to follow as closely as he could. The burly private cut his way through the crowd like a knife through butter, and Adams felt excitement growing inside his stomach as they neared the ring, giving them a good enough view of Kinch decking Murphy.

"YES! GIVE IT TO 'IM!" Brighton's voice sounded in his ear, and Adams couldn't bring himself to be resentful about it, since he was just as excited.

"YEAH MURPHY! TAKE THAT!" Bartoli's voice was even louder than his friend's, and Adams would have given him a dirty look if Buchanan hadn't moved even closer then, their view of Kinchloe getting better and better. Then there they were, amongst their own barracks mates.

"Glad you could make it!" Garlotti shouted to be heard, and LeBeau practically shrieked,

"TAKE HIS FEET OUT FROM UNDER HIM!"

"RIGHT, KNOCK 'IM DOWN TIL' THE END OF THIS BLOODY WAR!" Newkirk agreed.

Adams was happy that this sort of discipline was allowed in the camp. The colonel couldn't take care of all of the unruly men, and so the rest of his barracks usually took care of it, even if that meant making human towers to prove a point, or beating the tar out of a troublemaker.

"GET ON TOP OF 'IM!" Lyons' voice really _was_ formidable, Adams decided, and judging from Buchanan's expression, he agreed.

"Boy, it's real loud in here!" Carter yelled happily from next to them, and it took Adams a moment to realize that he was the one that had been addressed.

"Yeah, it is!" He agreed, wondering why the sergeant had chosen to speak to him, "Aren't your bombs louder though?"

"Oh sure! And they're a lot prettier!" Carter's smile could have lit up the world at that moment, and Adams couldn't help but mirror it. "All the color, lighting up the night, it's real pretty!"

"I remember!" Adams agreed. "As soon as those bomb bays open, you know you're in for a show!"

"Not as good as this show- DON'T TAKE THAT! GET BACK UP AND SHOW HIM WHO'S REALLY IN CHARGE!" Ames' voice wasn't anywhere _near_ Lyons, but it was still piercing.

"What shows are we talking about?" Abrams seemed to merely be talking loudly, rather than shouting, and Adams still understood every word.

"Bombs!" Carter explained.

"What bombs?!" Zeddemore turned and Garlotti laughed.

"It's always bombs with Carter!"

Adams couldn't have agreed more, suddenly finding himself chuckling as he realized that Carter had been making conversation when he'd shouted at him earlier.

"I really like bombs!" Carter didn't deny it, then gasped. "That was a real hard hit! HEY! THAT WASN'T FAIR! KINCH GIVE 'IM WHAT-FOR!"

It was only moments later that the Kommandant and a troop of guards barged in, demanding that a stop be put to the recreation.

"OH, LEAVE OFF!"

"We were havin' fun!"

"Who told!"

The colonel was amongst them, the crowd parting and quieting so that he could walk straight up to Kinch and Murphy to look them in their black eyes. His look said that perhaps they had gone too far, and the three of them had a quiet exchange while the guards helped the prisoners disperse back to their respective barracks. Barracks 12 left fairly sullenly, while Barracks 2 confused the guards, wanting to stay until it was truly over.

Adams caught sight of Lyons and Greenland, who had twice as many candy bars and cigarettes than before, if that were even possible. They seemed content to leave before the colonel and Kinch could follow, and Abrams followed them with a loose shrug.

"Wanna go?" Adams looked at Buchanan, only just then noticing that he had a bloody lip, "What happened?"

"I pushed my way through a mob."

"Oh. Well do you wanna head out?" Adams cast a glance back at Hogan and Kinch and Murphy. Klink was coming up on them quickly, and Hogan's face was smiling by the time the Kommandant made it to them.

So he couldn't have been too mad. … Right? It was hard to tell.

"Yeah. Let's go." Buchanan started out ahead of him so suddenly that Adams had to jog to catch up.

"I think that was worth it." Adams commented on their way across the compound, and he saw Buchanan's lips twitch into a smile of agreement.

When they entered the barracks, the only other occupants were Lyons and Greenland, suggesting that Abrams had taken the long way back. Adams went straight to his bunk, sitting on the bottom with a sigh before looking up. "What are you doing?" He asked Buchanan, who had stopped at the corkboard, and appeared to be writing. "You're adding a line?"

"A line tae what?" Lyons glanced up from his spoils, and Greenland shrugged.

"That song thing."

"The one we missed?"

"We miss everything."

"I wonder why?"

Adams ignored the exchange, nearing his friend and asking. "What are you writing? What did you hear?"

Buchanan merely handed him the pencil and retreated to their bunk, leaving Adams to look at the new line, scrawled in neatly, 'Open up the bomb bay'. A smile came unbidden to his lips as he thought back to his conversation with Carter, and then he finished it off, 'Light up the night'.

It even rhymed.

* * *

The colonel's reprimand to all of them the night before was the first thing that Abrams thought about when Schultz shouted at them the next morning. 'We're not here to fight amongst ourselves. We're here to fight the enemy.'

Schultz counted as the enemy, technically, right? So who said Abrams had to listen to him? He almost punched the guard when Schultz leaned down to shout, "Wake up, Abrams!"

"I am awake!" He growled, rolling over to glare and was satisfied when Schultz jumped back two feet.

"Good! Then RAUS!"

"I'll raus when I _feel_ like it!" He snarled, sliding off the bunk to stalk out into formation. Everyone in the barracks gave him a wide berth, since this happened often enough, though usually Abrams had a pretty good reign on his temper.

"Bad night, Hyde?" Olsen followed him out, but Abrams only scowled at his bunkmate, and that seemed to be answer enough for the sergeant.

Abrams contemplated his nickname, ruefully admitting to himself that it was true. Once he was well and truly awake, he was a friendly enough person, with just the perfect amount of wit to stay in the colonel's barracks. He was friendly at night too, happy to stay up as late as anyone else, with twice the ease they showed in doing so. Olsen had joked once that he was a nocturnal creature, and he had silently agreed.

Yet, as soon as he had any amount of sleep that he had to be awakened from, he became Hyde, no matter how nice Jekyll promised he'd be in the morning. He was friendlier if he stayed up all night than if he woke up in the morning, and he wished that it wasn't so, since it was enough to drive a man to insomnia, which he also struggled with due to being an unlikely light sleeper.

He wasn't paying any attention to Klink's speech, since it was only a very uninspiring repetition of what their own colonel had told them the night before, and was therefore surprised to find the Kommandant waving a trembling finger in front of his nose. "If I catch any more of these boxing matches going on like last night, I will put everyone in the barracks into the cooler, is that clear?!"

Abrams merely fixed his eyes stonily on the German's and was pleased to see that the Kommandant also saw him as a threat, stepping back hastily, to the rest of the barracks amusement. "Hogaaan! You will come see me in an hour!"

"What for?" Hogan asked it with annoyance.

"We need to talk about the discipline of this camp! Just because your men are bored, they cannot disrespect my command, or the rules!"

"They were just blowin' off steam, Kommandant."

"And I suppose when I catch them digging tunnels, you will say that it is also merely, 'blowing off steam'?

"And it would be." Hogan agreed amiably, then his voice crumpled into an audible grimace. "It's not my men's fault if the guards are losing control! You're always blaming us, when it would never happen if the guards did their jobs!"

"Colonel Hogan! That is not _nice_!" Schultz looked hurt. "It may be true, but it is. Not. Nice!"

"Shut up, Schultz." Klink shook his fist at Hogan then. "You are the Senior Prisoner of War, in this camp, and it is your fault if the guards are losing control!" The German froze then, seeming to realize what he'd just said. "And it is _not_ the guards fault! It is the prisoners!"

"Well then why'd you say it was the guards fault in the first place?!" Hogan cried indignantly.

"Because-" Klink stopped before he finished, fixing Hogan with a glare and sticking his neck out as far as it would go to angrily speak in a tremulous tone, looking somewhat like a bird. " _Don't_ twist my words!" Then the Kommandant saluted crisply before Hogan could reply. "Dis-missed!"

Immediately, the prisoners dispersed, even while Carter's confused voice rose above the murmur from the rest. "Why does Klink always need us to fix his problems?"

"That's how we earn our laurels, mate." Newkirk agreed sullenly.

"Solving their quarrels?" Ames rhymed, then laughed a little as everyone else frowned at the truth of his words.

"I wish I could say you were wrong, fellas, but it's true." Hogan chuckled. "It could be worse though."

"What, we could have an assignment on top of this?" Kinch's tone was sardonic, since all they'd wanted lately was something to do.

"No, I was talking about Klink's girl troubles."

Everyone laughed, knowing how true it was as they filed back in. Abrams went straight back to his bed, collapsing on it while Olsen jumped up on top.

"We're gettin' pretty lazy, fellas." Hogan was still standing at the door, and Abrams silently willed him to leave, and not try to get them to exercise.

"We had a pretty exciting night, colonel." Kinch offered from his own bunk.

"That's certainly true." Hogan nodded. "But we're gonna have to get some action soon, or we're gonna lose our touch."

"We could always build another human tower for morale." Carter said, and everyone who had made up the bottom row on the first tower immediately replied.

"NO."

"All right, pipe down." Hogan chuckled at the din that had risen from the suggestion, and Abrams was glad when everyone shut up. "If things don't pick up soon, we're gonna have to start doing things in the morning."

"Isn't it already bad enough havin' ta wake up at the bleedin' crack of dawn?" Newkirk was the beginning of another wave of voices that quieted when Hogan raised his hands.

"I know. I don't want to do it any more than you do, but you fellas are goin' stir crazy without work to do."

"It's like we're prisoners." Olsen added, getting various chuckles, and a few murmurs of agreement.

"Well try not to let the boredom crack you." Hogan stepped towards the door, even as Belknap quietly spoke.

"It already cracked Kinch."

The colonel disappeared into his quarters with a short laugh and a shaking head.

"I'd say it cracked Abrams, but I know this is how he always acts." Ames said, his voice egging the American to react.

"Don't you mean Hyde?" Olsen corrected, and the whole barracks quieted when Abrams abruptly stood.

It was satisfying to be feared, but his sleepy mind kept coming back to what had been said outside. 'We earn our laurels solving their quarrels'. The rhyme was too convenient for him to ignore, and he strode across the barracks to the song tacked on the board.

He wrote the lyrics quickly, not caring whether or not they fit in where he put them. The rhyme was nice, and surely someone could find somewhere for it to go.

Abrams was very aware of everyone's eyes on him as he made his way back, and he knew they were wondering if they'd pushed him too far. He suppressed a smile as he burrowed back into his bunk, ignoring their looks.

It was silent for quite a while longer, and then Ames hissed. "What did he do?"

"He wrote more of the song." Zeddemore's bunk was on the other side of the door from Newkirk's, giving him the perfect point of view as to what Abrams had done.

"He did? Gee, what did he write?" Carter's whisper was uselessly loud.

"We earn our laurels, solving their quarrels." Newkirk leaned off his bunk to read it, then shrugged, lying back down.

"What on Earth possessed him to do that?" Ames said quietly, while Garlotti spoke.

"I think it sounds good."

"Maybe he just wanted to add something to the song, and he really liked those words." LeBeau spoke from his bunk. "Who cares? Can we sleep now?"

Abrams fell back asleep to the blessed silence that followed the Frenchman's declaration, quietly promising himself that he'd be a little nicer when he woke up in an hour.

* * *

When the colonel woke them in an hour, Newkirk went to the stove as fast as possible, determined to beat LeBeau to it. He was only half surprised that he managed to do it, and proceeded to make himself a hot cuppa, needing one pretty badly in the face of his irritation.

"Wasting the bes' years of me life stuck here in the middle of a bleedin' prisoner of war camp …" He muttered. "An' it doesn't even matter if we're riskin' our lives every day, either. No one at home knows we are!" He hadn't even realized that his voice had risen until Ames sat across from him, pouring his own cup.

"Fame isn't all that it's cracked up to be."

"I keep hearing that!" Greenland sat, grabbing two cups and handing one to Lyons, who seemed unusually contemplative.

"It _would_ be nice tae get a little recognition ever' once in a while."

"Well, the people we save know we're heroes." Belknap had sat down so quietly; no one had noticed him until he spoke. "And their recognition is all that matters."

"It doesn't feel that way." Newkirk scowled into his tin cup, wondering if he'd ever hold one of his mother's favorite china cups again.

"Well, people throwing roses to you is a nice thought, but what do you get in the end?" Greenland drained the rest of his cup, then replied to himself. "Just a lot of dead roses."

"We're out here riskin' our necks every flippin' day!" Newkirk growled. "I fink that deserves more than jus' roses!"

"So what do we do all the time?" Olsen offered from his bunk. "We punch a few noses, tell a few lies, and so what if it's dangerous and we don't get the recognition we deserve? We're not out here for us."

"Yeah." Carter sat down right next to Newkirk with a smile that was far too bright for the ungodly hour in the Englander's opinion. "That's what we're heroes for!"

That made Newkirk pause in his immediate rebuttal. Carter, on purpose or not, had just quoted the dumb song.

The worst part is that the song was right, and Newkirk knew it as he thought back over the conversation that they'd just had. The next few lyrics were right there in his head, and he sighed as he put down his cup, standing and turning to the slip of paper that looked so innocuous, and yet threatened him with the truth.

"What are you doing, Peter?" Carter asked, his voice worried.

"Finishin' the ruddy verse." Newkirk breathed quietly as he wrote.

'You throw the roses, we punch the noses, that's what we're heroes for.'

* * *

Kinch had been pleasantly surprised to see how far the song had come from last time he'd looked. There was also a note from LeBeau about the third verse, stating that it would be to the tune of the countermelody.

He grinned when he realized that he knew exactly what countermelody LeBeau was talking about. The song had really been catching on around camp, with the colonel whistling it often enough, and even a few of the guards humming it intermittently.

Kinch found himself wanting to write something, but his mind only drew a blank. It was just as well, since Hogan walked into the common room just then, on a beeline for the door, and Kinch was forced to tack the song back to the wall quickly. Hogan didn't notice at all, and Kinch suddenly recognized the urgent expression on Hogan's face as he snatched the door open. "Something wrong, Co-" The question died on his lips when he saw the sight that the open door offered.

"Holy Toledo." Hogan breathed, while Olsen came up behind them.

"See? I told you they were doing it!"

"I can't believe Klink _believed_ this one." Hogan appeared to be genuinely amazed.

"What did you tell him?" Kinch looked sidelong at his colonel, but his eyes were soon drawn back outside.

"I told him that if he wanted to unify his guards, he was welcome to try the old Menschlicher Turm approach. I didn't think he'd actually do it though …"

"What did I hear about a human tower?" Newkirk came up from the table at last, finally deciding that whatever it was they were looking at was worth seeing. "What the-?!"

"Colonel! Colonel!" Carter and LeBeau were running across the compound, their expressions filled with disbelief, which only grew after Hogan's explanation.

"They believed you?" LeBeau's eyebrows were almost part of his hairline.

"Well, we _did_ do it ourselves first, and they all saw it." Olsen reasoned.

"Look at ol' Schultz!" Adams pointed, his voice on the edge of a giggle that came straight out of Carter.

Kinch slowly watched the Germans pile on top of each other, his cheeks beginning to ache from grinning so hard.

"I'm not usually good at forecasting whether, but today, I can tell there's gonna be a 90% chance of falling Kraut." Abrams observed as he strolled up to the barracks entrance, seeming unaffected by the pile of Germans.

"With a mini earthquake." Kinch deadpanned.

Prisoners were clumping up all over the compound, staring at the Germans, and then everyone watched with bated breath as Klink prepared to climb to the top.

"This is just cookin' up to be the best disaster of our career." Hogan said softly, as though speaking too loudly would topple the already badly balanced Kommandant, who was about halfway up. "I'm gonna get home and people are gonna ask me what I did during the war, and I'm gonna have to say that I can't tell 'em, 'cause I have no idea."

Inspiration struck, and Kinch pulled himself back from the door to grab the slip of paper, writing before the words left his head.

'What's a hero do? Well we have no idea, so we're not tellin' you! That's why we heroes are so few,'

Kinch turned to look at the colonel, who had been the one inspiring the lines so far, then shrugged as he wrote the rest, ridiculous though it may have been. It was partly for the Colonel's birthday, after all.

'We've got a slogan, from Colonel Hogan, and Colonel Hogan's a hero too."

The radioman pinned the paper back on the board and rejoined the group at the door just in time to see all of the Germans topple like vertical bowling pins.

Hogan closed the door to cover up their laughter, which brought Greenland and Lyons out of their midday nap. "What is it? What did we miss?"

Newkirk managed to explain through almost blue lips, and Lyons scowled.

"We miss everythin'!"

* * *

Belknap couldn't have been more surprised by how quickly everything had changed. One minute they didn't have anything to do, and the next, they were overwhelmed.

One of their own Generals showed up in the camp, a General Walker that London wanted them to spring. They also had to find out the location of a nearby factory, and get a transmitter piece to a floundering underground group that was at risk of being found by the Gestapo who were still on the prowl, and still a very real threat.

The Canadian private could see the stress on the colonel's face every time he went through the common room, and didn't envy the tough decisions that he'd have to make. He and his Bunkmate were working on overtime to make sure that the whole camp knew what to do and when, leaving him no time for origami, and Zeddemore no time for reading.

The weather had taken a nasty turn, on top of everything else, leaving them with more rain than they knew what to do with, and a ridiculous amount of mud. A cold front had also moved in, giving many men in the camp nasty sneezes that made Belknap's job that much harder with all of the supplies lists that he had been getting from Stockton on behalf of Wilson.

"Hey, Zedd, you done runnin' the numbers?" He quietly inquired of his bunkmate as the rain pounded on the roof overhead along with Kinch, Greenland and Buchanan, all of whom were fixing the holes that hadn't made themselves known until the downpour had begun.

"Not yet, I'll have it for you in a minute Frank." Came the distracted reply from below. It was doubtful that their NCO would even have the time to look over the forms they were keeping track of, but it was important that they keep up on the camp news, and keep the requisitions in priority order.

"Scott's comin' back with pneumonia." Abrams spoke sullenly about his own bunkmate as he looked out the window.

"The colonel couldn't help but send him out in that rain." LeBeau admonished from his place at the stove, stoking the fire to keep them as warm as could be hoped for in their current weather. "Besides. Olsen knows how to take care of himself. You should worry more about your own job."

"I am." Abrams defended, but his heart wasn't really in it. "My only job right now is to be a substitute for whoever hits their head first, though."

"It's really not so bad a job." Ames shrugged. "If it's what the colonel needs, then its what we really ought to do."

"Yeah, but-"

There was a sudden shout from outside, and they all heard the sickening thud of someone falling off the roof. LeBeau tore the door open and rushed right out, "Kinch!" Abrams and Ames followed quickly, helping the small Frenchman bring him in before Abrams tore away, running back out with a breathy, "I'll go get Wilson!"

The bunk came up then, revealing a nearly unrecognizable Adams, who was followed swiftly by an equally muddy Garlotti, "We're running out of braces for tunnel 4! It looks like it's gonna give up the ghost soon!"

"I'll get the word out." Zeddemore reached up, and Belknap snatched the list from his friend's dark fist, watching him fly out the door while the other men got Kinch onto a bunk–Adams bunk–with the muddy men from below helping. Kinch was more wet than muddy, except for his side that must have hit the ground. He was groaning, and weakly protesting,

"I'm fine, I just knocked my head a little too hard."

Ames' lips tightened into a thin line at the unwitting echo of Abrams earlier words.

Garlotti and Adams seemed reluctant to go, but after a firm look from LeBeau, they went to finish their jobs. The men on the roof continued to work as well, knowing that it was paramount that they get it done as soon as possible.

Belknap tried to ignore his NCO's obvious pain, since he wasn't dying, and the Canadian would only get in the way if he tried to help.

Wilson came rushing in then, followed by Abrams, and as he knelt by the bed to discover what damage had been done, Belknap felt terror momentarily grip his heart. How had their situation gotten so bad?

The colonel was out scouting with Newkirk and Carter, having claimed that the rain was the perfect cover, though all of his men knew that London was demanding answers _now,_ hence the daylight mission. Olsen was delivering the transmitter, trying to save the lives of brave underground contacts, and there was still General Walker in the cooler.

Hogan had certain rules for his barracks, and when he was gone, they were in charge. They had a few teams fixing roofs all over camp, they had a few of the engineers down keeping all of the tunnels from collapsing, they had men in every barracks running interference with the guards, making the only highlight the fact that Klink hated the rain as much as they did.

The fear running down Belknap's spine at the overwhelming turn of events wasn't helped when Schultz suddenly burst in. " _What_ is going on here?"

"Sergeant Kinchloe fell of the roof." Wilson spoke dismissively, and Schultz frowned.

"Oh, das ist bad!" The Sergeant of the Guard waddled closer. "Are you all right, Kinchloe?"

"Been better." Kinch grunted, and Wilson chided.

"Don't hurt yourself. You cracked at least two ribs, and now you're on pneumonia watch." He turned to Belknap. "Write him down." Then he looked at Kinch again. "It'd be best if you'd lie on your bad side. I know it's painful, and I can give you some morphine, but it'll help keep the pneumonia at bay."

Belknap avoided all eye contact as he grabbed the list filled with men to watch for pneumonia, depressively adding his NCO to the bottom while Kinch was rolled into the correct position, refusing drugs.

LeBeau murmured some choice words in French as Wilson got up to leave, managing to convince Schultz to go with him, saying it was urgent and thus keeping him from noticing the lack of prisoners in the barracks. Abrams followed, helping convince Schultz as he offered Wilson any assistance he'd need.

The door had hardly closed when it opened again, revealing Buchanan and Greenland.

"You all right, Sarge?" The southerner moved toward Kinch while Greenland poured himself a cup of coffee.

"It's too flipping cold for a war. They should have postponed it." He then glanced around, looking first at his own bunk, then around the rest of the room. "Jamie still in the tunnel?" The Brit's eyes dropped when Belknap nodded.

"I'm all right." Kinch went to stand, only to be stopped by LeBeau's brandished spoon.

"You have two cracked ribs, et you are not moving from that bed until I say you can."

Belknap ended up smiling despite the situation. He vaguely remembered his dad encouraging him when he was young. 'Never flinch, boy. Never be afraid.' The extremely large man didn't say much, and so when he'd said that, it had imprinted itself onto young Franklin Belknap's brain for the rest of his life.

Just thinking of his father, reliable and rock-solid in _any_ situation calmed Belknap considerably. His eyes wandered around the room where he'd been comfortably existing for the past year, and his eyes caught on the corkboard next to Newkirk and Carter's bunk.

The small slip of paper that he knew held the song on it peeked out from under quite a few other things, pinned on by his own hand. He crossed the room slowly, getting a strange look from Greenland which he ignored as he unpinned the song and read it. He smiled at the happy memories of the last few weeks, and then he picked up the pencil and wrote exactly what his father had said that day, word for word.

'Never flinch, boy. Never be afraid.'

"Adding your own line?" Greenland asked, while Ames added in surprise.

"I'd completely forgotten about that! How far is it?"

"I just started the fourth verse." Belknap hung it back up, careful not to cover up anything important.

"What'd you put?" Kinch's voice was strained, but he didn't try anything foolish under LeBeau's watchful eye.

"Never flinch, boy. Never be afraid." Belknap read it with no emotion, trying not to betray how much the words meant to him.

"I-" Kinch wheezed, and LeBeau stepped closer in alarm, hovering until he was needed. "I think we should only have four verses."

"What is wrong with five?" LeBeau sounded affronted. "My countermelody was going to be the middle verse!" Kinch laughed, but it soon turned into a wheeze that had the Frenchman immediately forgiving him. "I suppose it could sound just as good with four verses."

"I'm just glad that it's going to end sooner." Ames chuckled. "I'll finally be able to get it out of my head!" Buchanan smiled, while Greenland cast another glance at the tunnel entrance.

"Do you think they need any help down there?"

"Greenland-" Kinch began, only to be offered a cup of coffee by LeBeau, whom Belknap had personally watched drop a few pills in before holding it out.

"Oh stop your fretting!" Ames scowled. "They know what they're doing down there!"

"Yeah." Buchanan spoke up before Greenland could, much to everyone's shock. "You're not missing anything."

Belknap felt most of the tension gained in the last few days drain out with his laughter, and he found that though things weren't going very well, he couldn't have been less afraid.

* * *

"Greenland is really missin' oot." Lyons grunted as he held one of the wooden braces with his shoulder, keeping it in place while Garlotti and Adams worked around him to frantically stabilize it.

Adams groaned as he slipped in the mud a couple of times, yet Lyons didn't miss his eye roll. "What _is_ it with you two, anyway?"

"An old joke." Lyons would have shrugged if his shoulder hadn't been so busy and sore.

"Tunnel 6 is starting to flood!" Brighton's voice called down the hall, and a shout from Bartoli followed,

"BRACE IT!"

The Barracks 2 men ignored the scramble of those from Barracks 7, focusing on their own beam, knowing that they couldn't just abandon their post.

They'd been down in the tunnels for the better part of the day, Garlotti being their resident tunnel expert, training Adams and Lyons on the job. They'd been learning fast, and they'd put emergency braces in at least three tunnels so far when the flooding began, and they'd had to go redo half of the work in what was becoming thicker and slimier mud by the minute.

"It's slipping …" Adams growled, and Lyons struggled to get a better foothold in the mud, only to slip and fall on his back, watching with horror as a lot of the muddy wall loosed itself along with the beam, all of it coming down on him. He managed to roll himself onto his side as it buried him, faintly hearing Garlotti call,

"CAVE IN! MAN DOWN!"

Lyons was surrounded by mud, and he knew he couldn't breath it in, or he'd definitely die. In the back of his mind, a small hysterical voice reminded him of his earlier comment on Greenland, and he found himself shaking with laughter, or was it shock? His bunkmate really _had_ missed out.

He didn't even realize that he was free until the light slap on his back, and he coughed, surprised when mud expelled itself from his throat. He thought he heard voices, but he couldn't be sure, and he didn't want to open his eyes to look.

"… Pretty bad concussion …" Was that Wilson?

"… be okay?" Adams? Probably? No, no it was Abrams. But he wasn't there, was he? Whoever it was started with an A, for sure.

"… can get him … into his bed … rest."

"… move him? Is it safe, or …" Garlotti. That was definitely Garlotti.

"Yes, but … his head." Oh yeah. That was Wilson.

"On three." That was Adams, but it was a different voice from earlier.

Lyons barely heard the counting, but he felt it when the world dropped away from beneath him, and his already shaky breath caught. "Breathe, Jamie. Breathe." That _was_ Abrams!

"Wh-what're-" Lyons couldn't finish the question, but he felt himself floating up, and he heard the soothing words of his friends.

"Just breathe."

"Jamie?!" Greenland's voice sounded like another cave in, and Lyons flinched away from it before he remembered the joke and began laughing, deep in his poor throat, which had lit on fire.

"Ye … missed it." He managed to wheeze, feeling a lot of hands around him, and hearing a lot of voices telling him to calm down, to focus, to breathe.

Lyons did as he was told. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he finally cracked his eyes open, then scrunched them closed again at the offending light. He was just about ready to go back to sleep, but someone had noticed, and he felt a hand on his arm.

"Jamie?"

"Ed." So it was Greenland. His voice sounded far too panicked to Lyons ears, and the Scotsman turned his head away as his friend answered.

"How do you feel?"

"I dunno yet." He admitted. "But I donnae like the lights."

"I'd turn them off, but we're using them." Greenland's joke fell flat with a tone that Lyons finally recognized. He turned to look right at the sturdy Brit before him.

"What's wrong?"

Greenland's eyes avoided his, then finally he met Lyons' gaze. "You almost died, and it was my fault!"

"How was it yer fault?" Lyons voice rose of its own accord, and his head split in half only a moment later. Greenland waited respectfully for his eyes to open again before whispering.

"If I had been down there, I could have helped!"

"Ye were workin' on th' roof."

"Yes, but fat lot of good I did up there. Kinch still slipped off and cracked his ribs."

"He did?"

Greenland gave him a look, as though daring him to finish the thought.

"I miss everythin'."

Finally the other corporal let out his breath in a soft laugh. "You and me both."

They both sat in contented silence for a moment before Lyons suddenly remembered, "Did the whole tunnel go oot?"

Greenland didn't respond.

"Hullo …"

"Hmm?"

"The tunnel. Did it all go?"

"Oh, good heavens, no!" Greenland smiled then. "The boys from 7 were close enough that they managed to put a stop to the collapsing and dig you out." His face twisted into a grimace suddenly. "That ridiculous song. I'm no hero, you know?"

Lyons wasn't sure where that had come from, but he couldn't let the self-recrimination continue. "Edmund."

That caught his friend's attention immediately.

"It wasnae your fault the tunnel went when it did. And _ye_ are a hero."

"I wasn't always." Greenland turned away, guilt still clouding his face, and finally Lyons took drastic measures.

"Aye, neither was I. But heroes aren't born, they're made, and I thin' the colonel's got us all actin' like heroes."

"Oh!" Greenland shook his head and rolled his eyes. "You're delirious!" He went to stand, but Lyons grabbed his arm.

"No, I mean it." They locked eyes, and Lyons grinned. "It'd be perfect for th' song."

"Well I'm not going to write it." Greenland huffed, rolling his eyes again, only to quickly push Lyons back down as he went to stand. "What are you doing?!"

"I'm gon'tae write it meself."

After only a moment or so more of pushing against each other, Greenland stood with a growl. "Fine! I'll write the flipping line! What exactly did you want written?"

"Heroes aren't born, they're made." Lyons smirked as his friend tramped across the barracks, and only then did the Scot realize that they weren't the only ones there. LeBeau caught his eye and grinned, while Ames shook his head at their antics.

Belknap and Zeddemore were organizing a lot of different papers, passing them back and forth between each other, exchanging a few words and then discarding a few papers altogether.

Greenland was taking longer than he'd thought he would, and he saw that his friend was reading the other lines. He smiled. Things would go back to normal soon.

"There!" Greenland stomped back all too suddenly, and Lyons realized that he'd drifted off. The Brit must have realized it as well, since he sat sheepishly next to Lyons on the bottom bunk. "Sorry. But I wrote your line down."

"'s'al'righ'." Lyons murmured.

"You know, … your line rhymed with the one before … And Belknap only wrote that today, so there's no way you could have known it would." Greenland seemed to be talking to himself, and looked startled when Lyons murmured.

"O' course it did. Tha' song is writin' itself." Suddenly his eyes snapped open. "Belknap wrote a line?"

"Yes." Greenland seemed confused, then it dawned on him, and he scowled. "Don't say it."

"I miss everythin'."

* * *

Ames wasn't the least bit surprised to find that no one had escaped the day without getting either soaked, completely muddied, or some sort of awful mixture of both. When the Colonel got back in, Newkirk and Carter at his heels, the three of them had changed out of their mission clothes, but it was apparent from their hair and their shivers that they had been soaked. Olsen fared much the same, though slightly better since the ever-thankful underground operatives had insisted that he stay and warm up.

Both of their missions had been accomplished though, so at least there was that.

The colonel's face had tightened when he'd found out about Kinch and Lyons, both of whom were sleeping off their ordeals with their own personal mother hens nearby.

"And Klink hasn't shown up?"

"Non." LeBeau shook his head while Newkirk muttered oaths under his breath.

"Has Baker been in charge of radio?"

"Oui, mon colonel."

"Mostly he's just been keepin' it dry." Abrams spoke from his bunk under where Olsen had collapsed as soon as he'd gotten back. Ames could easily see that the Californian was relieved, since he was acting more relaxed since his bunkmates return than he had all day. He'd worked himself to the bone with Wilson and Stockton all over camp, getting just as wet as anybody else, making Ames feel a little guilty for still being mostly dry.

"How about the General?"

"Last time we saw, he was dry and cozy with the extra blankets we managed to smuggle in." Adams was at the sink, doing what he could about the mud in his normally lighter hair.

"Flippin' officers." Newkirk growled. "They get all the perks."

"We're getting him-" The colonel sneezed rather violently. "Out tonight."

"What? Why tonight?!"

"You know better than to ask that, Pierre." LeBeau chuckled.

"That's suicide!" Newkirk cried, and Garlotti spoke from above Ames.

"Hey, remember our motto."

"What, we're all 'round the bend?" Newkirk rolled his eyes as Carter corrected him.

"No, it's 'Never say die!'"

"I'll bloody well say die as many times as I like!" Newkirk cried, and Hogan gave him a dark look.

"Enough fighting. LeBeau, Carter, Newkirk. In my office." The officer strode in, and Garlotti jumped off the bunk.

"I wonder what plan he's got cooked up this time?"

"Betcha 20 to 1 it involves German uniforms." Abrams grinned.

Ames' mind was still on the previous conversation, and he spoke thoughtfully. "I wonder why our motto isn't in the song."

"Well I can fix that, easy." Garlotti walked over to the paper, smudging it with his still dirty fingers as he grabbed it to write. "Never say die, …" The corporal grinned as more came to him. "Ask not why!"

"We're really close to finishing that thing, aren't we?" Adams asked, finally finishing washing his face.

Ames was curious, silently agreeing with Adams, and wanting to see for himself. The sergeant got up, moving to check.

"Abrams!" The colonel's voice came through his admittedly thin door, and the young man leapt up, glancing to see if it had woken up Olsen.

"Time to answer the call."

Ames pulled the little slip of paper, grimacing at the jumble of different handwritings that spilled across it. Reading it to the very end twisted his poetic sense, since it read badly, but he smiled more often than not, remembering most of the instances that seemed to have occurred years before.

Abrams words were ringing in his head, even while Garlotti sidled up next to him. "You think of somethin' you wanna add?"

Ames was about to shake his head no, when it all suddenly struck him, as though someone had whispered the words in his head. "Yes." He snatched the pencil, writing it even as the group in with the colonel began to filter back out. 'Answer the call, remember we'll all be heroes forever more.'

He tacked it back up as swiftly as was humanly possible when Hogan followed the others. "Okay fellas. Abrams will tell you what to do, and whatever you do, _don't_ blow our covers."

"Yes, sir!" No one needed to be told twice, and they all agreed while Hogan disappeared below with the rest of the core team.

Ames found himself grinning like a fool as the tunnel entrance closed behind them, knowing that whatever the plan was, he was in all the way.

* * *

Hogan couldn't believe the last couple of weeks. It had gone from boring enough to convince Klink to climb on top of a literal guard tower, to hectic enough that his men had been able to fool their own guards in camp with some SS uniforms and angry German shouting.

They'd barely gotten out of there with the general, and Hogan had been forced to hide him in his own quarters until the rain slowed down enough send the man out. Just in time, too, since that's when the Gestapo showed up to tear the camp apart.

Now it was finally over, and the rain had finally stopped. 'Happy birthday, Rob.' He thought sardonically, glad for the reprieve, since his men had finally been able to shower, though he had a hunch that the barracks needed to be scrubbed even worse.

He'd make them clean it when it wasn't his birthday, and he wasn't constantly trying to avoid thinking about home. Klink had told him happy birthday in formation that morning, promising him two extra pieces of writing paper, which was uncharacteristically generous. So he had no doubt that the men had cooked up something ridiculous.

So long as it wasn't an ammo dump, he had no complaints.

Schultz had even offered to let him have the lights on late tonight, though he was personally so tired out by the last few weeks events that he was ready to just sleep for the rest of the day. Almost the whole barracks had colds, only LeBeau, Ames, Belknap and Zeddemore exempt, and Hogan reminded himself that it wasn't fair to begrudge them their good health when he sneezed loudly.

Klink on the other hand …

Hogan shook his head when he found himself humming as he composed a letter home, and for the third time that morning, wondered what song it was, and where he'd first heard it.

He'd heard Klink humming it too, come to think of it, along with Schultz.

He supposed that it didn't matter, but promised himself that he'd ask his men when he got the chance. He signed his letter with a flair, feeling a little sad that he had finished writing it so soon. There just wasn't much to tell, … or really there just wasn't much that he _could_ tell.

He sighed, feeling the full weight of his command and his 37 years as he stood up. 'I'm gettin' too old for this.' He thought with a smirk, then shrugged the feeling off. 'You're not done yet, old man.'

It was time to see if the rest of the men felt as tired as he did. If they did, then some morale boosting would be needed.

He opened the door to his quarters, and saw that all of his men were gathered around the table, though they didn't appear to be playing cards. "What's up, fellas?"

He enjoyed their looks of horror and shock and surprise, and then Kinch rose, calm and collected despite having been caught, and walked towards him. "We just finished your birthday present, sir."

"Oh?" Hogan was content to wait.

"Oh yeah, boy! I mean sir!" Carter barely even wasted time on turning red at the mistake, too excited. "You're gonna love it!"

"Or you're gonna barf. One of the two." Newkirk nodded. "An' for the record, Carter named it, even if he does blame it on Schnitzer."

"What is it?" Hogan asked, his curiosity winning over his patience, watching as his men all formed up around Kinch, looking at him, waiting for him.

His chief NCO lifted a small slip of paper then, reading. " _Hogan's_ _Heroes_."

Hogan didn't even try to hide his look of utter disbelief, and he finally had to wave Kinch on, seeing that the men were waiting on him.

"Music by: Sergeant Scott Olsen and Corporal Louis LeBeau. Lyrics by: The Men of Barracks 2. Edited by: Private Hank Zeddemore." Kinch's smile was blinding as he looked to the men around him.

Ames' voice suddenly interrupted. "Where are Greenland and Lyons?!"

"They're not 'ere?" Newkirk face-palmed. "We'll never 'ear the end of it if they miss this!"

"I'll go find them!" Carter volunteered, and before anyone could stop him, he was heading for the door, only to have it open and spit the two missing corporals inside. Lyons caught sight of their angry faces, and then shared a look with his bunkmate.

"What did we miss?" Greenland asked.

"We're about to sing, you flippin' morons! Ge' over 'ere!" Newkirk snapped.

Hogan watched the exchange with amusement, and again, everyone looked to Kinch for their cue.

All alone, James Kinchloe began to sing, and Hogan immediately recognized the tune.

" _Heroes, heroes, husky men of war._

 _Sons of all the heroes, of the war before_."

He was joined by Greenland, Lyons, Buchanan and Zeddemore, who's deep voices filled the room with warmth that had been lacking since the rain had hit.

" _We're all heroes up to our ear-o's,_

 _You ask the questions,_

 _We make suggestions,_

 _That's what we're heroes for._ "

All of the men now dropped into a soft baseline, leaving room for Newkirk's voice to be heard.

" _All good heroes love a great big fight._

 _Open up the bomb bays, brighten up the night._ "

Ames, Belknap, Garlotti and Abrams joined him in several harmonies.

" _We earn laurels, solving your quarrels._

 _You throw the roses,_

 _We punch the noses._

 _That's what we're heroes for!_ "

All of the men dropped out except for Adams and Carter, the latter of whom sang the countermelody while the former whistled the melody.

" _What's a hero do?_

 _We're never gonna tell ya, 'cause we wish, we knew!_

 _That's why we heroes are so few._

 _We got our slogan,_

 _From Colonel Hogan,_

 _And Colonel Hogan's a hero too!_ "

Now they all cut out, and LeBeau puffed up his chest to sing.

" _Never flinch boys, never be afraid!_ "

Then they all joined in, their combined chorus swelling with emotion.

" _Heroes are not born, boys heroes all are made!_

 _Ask not why, boys._

 _Never say die, boys._

 _Answer the call_

 _Remember we'll all be heroes forevermore!_ "

There was a long silence after it all ended, and Hogan was loath to break it, too many emotions running through him to trust his voice.

"Did you like it?" Carter asked, his face lit up and waiting.

Hogan stayed quiet for a while longer, not wanting his words to crack like they had when he'd been a teen. Finally, he managed a bright grin, hoping that his eyes weren't too shiny as he responded. "I've never been prouder to share a barracks with a buncha hams like you."

"I still fink the name is ruddy awful." Newkirk was the first one to respond, and Hogan finally let out the laugh that had been building since the first line, feeling his body ease with the natural joy.

Yes, Hogan missed home, but this would do just fine until the day he could return.

Just fine.

* * *

 **Somebody needs to hit me. I'm dead tired, and I had planned on this being a short one-shot that only took a day to write.**

 **Oh, more fool me.**

 **It took two days, and It's 2:00 in the morning and I can hardly see a thing and I totally zoned out nearing the end, and I'm sure I'll be wondering why I posted this when I'm finally awake, but I don't care, cuz I'm starting my one and a half year trip sans wifi next week, and I had to finish this first, darn the consequences.**

 **I keep having to retype words, cuz they're coming out backwards, so I'm gonna try and make the rest of this note quick.**

 **First and foremost: I apologize for any and all mistakes regarding prisoner life, and/or WWII. I'm not a history buff, and I didn't think this fic would require that I be one. :/ So if it really sucks, jus' lemme know and I'll apologize again when I'm finally back.**

 **Second: Sorry for all of the OCs. I know that OCs aren't easy to like, and I'm sorry that I used them so liberally. If you were able to actually read the mess of spilt milk above, then I'm glad, but I really do apologize. They just began insisting that they be used. I couldn't say no. If you're interested, here's a list of them, putting the person on the top bunk in each pair first.**

 **1) Colonel Robert E. Hogan (America, Ohio)**

 **2) Corporal Peter Newkirk (London, England)**

 **3) Sergeant Andrew J. Carter (America, North Dakota)**

 **4) Corporal Louis LeBeau (Paris, France)**

 **5) Sergeant James Kinchloe (America, Michigan)**

 **6) Corporal Alfonso Garlotti (America, New Jersey)**

 **7) Sergeant Charles Ames (Liverpool, England)**

 **8) Sergeant Scott Olsen (America, Maine)**

 **9) Sergeant Richard Abrams (America, California)**

 **10) Private Franklin Belknap [bell nap] (Abbotsford, Canada)**

 **11) Private Hank Zeddemore (America, Arkansas)**

 **12) Corporal Jamie Lyons (Stirling, Scotland)**

 **13) Corporal Edmund Greenland (Whitby, England)**

 **14) Private Jed Buchanan (America, Louisiana)**

 **15) Corporal David Adams (America, Kansas)**

 **Third: Now y'all are gonna hate me as soon as I say this, but I named two of them after my ancestors, and I liberally doled out my personal traits among them. … One has way more than the others, and they shall all remain nameless. You can guess which ones are who in the reviews, if you feel so inclined, and then I may reveal it, maybe.**

 **Finally: Thank you for reading this, I'll probably go back and edit the many mistakes that slipped through near the end later, but until then, thanks for putting up with them. This has been my favorite fandom for a long time, and part of that has always had to do with how kind the fanbase has been. :) You guys are the best.**

 **So. This will probably be my last posting for a year and a half, so until then, ta mates!**

 **C ya'll.**

 **-Al**


	2. Hogan's Heroes: tag

**Hey hey hey! Thanks for all the reviews, guys! ... Wow. It's been so long since I've been on here, that I dunno who's reviews I've answered anymore. ... *sigh* So here y'are. One big THANKS for everyone. Truly, your reviews mean the world to me. :) Your follows too!**

 **Actually, that's why I'm here. I'd hate it if you had nothing to follow, and there was one part of the whole fic that bothered me. A small loose end.**

 **I'm going to tie it up now, very simply, and dedicate it to all of you (man I am so cheesy).**

* * *

Oscar Schnitzer always had mixed feelings as he prepared to make his rounds at Stalag XIII. The first time he'd come through those gates, he hadn't been able to speak more than a few words in English, and had been content with merely ensuring that his dogs did not kill the allies. After all, if that was the small part that he could play to end the war and help his fatherland, he would do it.

As soon as he had realized what his new leader was doing to his beloved country, he had begun fighting back, in all ways that he could, though working mainly alone. The camp though, had been a prime example of just what his Fuhrer had begun. The barbed wire had loomed ominously as he drove his truck through the similarly adorned gates. The dogs even seemed to feel the dampened spirit of the drab, grey place, quieting their usual noises in the back.

That first impression had been another reason for him to keep fighting back. Though ...

He had never expected to become so attached to the men there, eventually becoming their first underground contact. Hogan had worked his magic within a month of arriving at the camp, he remembered well. The colonel could speak fluent German, and had quickly taken over the camp, spurring the small rebellious actions of Oscar until the man had expanded his operation, and now they worked together quite regularly.

Now arriving at the camp brought a much different feeling. A small smile quirked his lips as the guard at the gate let him through with hardly another glance. He could see the prisoners milling about, sticking close to their barracks, and surreptitiously watching as he pulled up alongside the dog-pen.

He knew that the Colonel and his men weren't currently working as normal. Not with all of the Gestapo activity in the area. They seemed overly zealous to see him, and he suspected that it was caused in part by the lack of excitement. The small Frenchman expertly diverted Schultz's attention away from he and the dogs as the Englander and his American friend made it up to him. "Hi Schnitzer!"

Oscar would never cease to be amazed at the young sergeant's naivete, wondering for the umpteenth time just how the man regularly managed to fool people into thinking he was anything other than a kind-hearted friend. The Englishman scowled at his companion's beaming smile and friendly greeting, asking the question that they must have come to find the answer to. "Any news, Oscar?"

"Nein, I'm afraid." Schnitzer answer in a surly tone, "Zhe Gestapo is still waiting to spring a trap."

"Oh." Sergeant Carter deflated, and Oscar couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the obviously desperate men.

"Great. Jus' when we're startin' to go barmy ..." Newkirk muttered, and Schnitzer allowed the smile he'd deliberately hidden earlier to slip free.

"Do not worry. I do not think that Hogan's heroes can be bested by such a small thing as nothing to do."

Carter caught him off guard as he practically shouted, "THAT'S _IT_!"

"Carter! You should not be here!" Schultz burst past LeBeau at American's shout to intervene, and Newkirk wrinkled his nose, putting a finger in his ear on the side that Carter had just deafened.

"What is it, Andre?" LeBeau followed the portly sergeant.

"Gee, _thanks_ Schnitzer!" Carter was still jubilant. "I knew the name was missing something before, but _Hogan's Heroes_ is _perfect_!"

" _What_ are you talking about?" Schultz broke in, even as Newkirk's frown was snorted out in disbelief,

"You aren't talking about that bloody song are you?"

"Ah, oui! _Hogan's Heroes_ is a nice name." LeBeau agreed.

"Hogan's ... Heroes?" Schultz asked, still behind.

"That's ruddy awful! 'oo in their right mind would call anyfing that?" Newkirk scowled, even as Olsen joined the fray, appearing from seemingly nowhere.

"Call what what?"

Schnitzer began to worry at the amount of prisoners that were now surrounding him, and he supposed that it must have showed on his face, because that's when Schultz stepped in once more, floundering to wrest control once more from the prisoners. "That's en _ough_! Everybody back, back back!"

"Bawk bawk bawk!" Olsen clucked in reply just for fun as Newkirk griped,

"We 'aven' 'ad a bloody fing ta do for so long, an' now yer tellin' us to go back to doing nofing!"

"I did not tell you to do nothing, I said _back_!" Schultz defended, and the conversation degraded from there into English that was too fast for Schnitzer to discern.

Oscar attempted to hide a smile as he swiftly finished his job, then moved to get back into his truck.

Even as he closed the door, he chanced a look out the window at the small group of men surrounding and arguing with the portly sergeant. He chuckled dryly, thinking back on the small observation that he'd made, and the amount of turmoil that had resulted, then shook his head as he started his truck.

Hogan's Heroes indeed.

* * *

 **Whelp, that's the tag end to "Hogan's Heroes" That I thought of ages ago, but wasn't able to write until now. Remember that Carter thought of the name, even though he "blamed it on Schnitzer". :)**

 **I love Hogan's Heroes so much, thanks for letting me write in this fandom, and I hope to be much more active here from here on out. :)**

 **So. ... I'm home.**


End file.
